


Voulez-vous

by Weltschmerzer



Series: Kinktober 2020 [6]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: BDSM, Cheating, Cuckolding, Established Relationship, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:02:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26584075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weltschmerzer/pseuds/Weltschmerzer
Summary: The realisation that Ryou is cheating on Malik comes to him slowly at first, and then all at once.
Relationships: Bakura Ryou/Malik Ishtar, Bakura Ryou/Yami Bakura
Series: Kinktober 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1927633
Comments: 8
Kudos: 22





	Voulez-vous

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Kinktober Day 13 with the themes spanking, NTR, and collaring.
> 
> …Sorry Malik.

It started, like most things did, with nothing.

Malik had been sitting on his favorite chair in the living room six months prior, sipping on a lukewarm beer. It had been hot, for July—they’d opened the windows, but there was no wind. The collar of the nice shirt Ryou had bought him for his most recent birthday was wet with sweat, and his long hair clung to the nape of his neck.

Bakura, beside him, had taken a drink. “The beer’s warm,” he’d complained, sourly. “Couldn’t your wife have put it in the fridge?”

“Shut up, he's not my wife,” Malik had replied, frowning. “And if you want it cold, get up and ice it yourself. Who knows—maybe waiting for a minute'll teach you some patience, finally?”

His best friend had scowled. “Patience,” he’d said, as if the word disgusted him. “Fine.” Then, bottle in hand, he’d headed off towards the kitchen, where Ryou was still working on dinner.

Later, Malik thought that must’ve been where everything started. Under the lights of their shoddy kitchen, with the stained stove top and overstuffed fridge, during those five minutes of solitude when Malik had sat like an idiot in his favorite chair and sipped his beer and thought about the weather.

Malik had been with Ryou for three years. Bakura, at this point, had met him only twice.

* * *

The realisation that Ryou was cheating on him came slowly at first, and then all at once.

Malik had fucked Ryou for the first time after their sixth real date, back at Ryou’s old apartment, when they’d been officially going out for three months. He hadn’t been a virgin, but Malik hadn’t asked, either. It was nice—Ryou had been tight and willing, and _beautiful_ , laid out on the bed with his slender ankles resting on Malik’s shoulders, biting down on his lip to keep from crying out. For a while, Ryou had been insatiable with him, dropping to his knees at the first opportunity. But they’d fallen into the regular routine that came with the cohabitation of two working adults, as of late: sex once a week on Friday nights, with the lights down low; Ryou’s face in the pillow, his ass in the air, already prepped and ready once Malik came back from the shower.

Malik couldn’t remember now when that started. Now, he reckoned it was probably July.

And then Ryou, who had always owned no jewelry, began to wear a shiny ring around his neck in the middle of August. He’d told Malik that he had bought it from some thrift shop, and had brought it home because it looked like one of the Egyptian artifacts his dad had kept around the house back when he’d been alive and their relationship hadn’t been shit. And Malik wasn’t a monster, so he’d said that it looked great on Ryou, that the color of the pendant suited him.

Ryou, shyly, had blushed—he’d leaned in and kissed the corner of Malik’s mouth, and had whispered, “Thank you, Malik, really.”

But his clothes began to change, too—the loose, comfortable pants he used to wear on off days were shoved into drawers, replaced by jeans that showed off his slim figure, emphasizing the curve of his hips and ass and his flat belly. The shirts he wore when he went out got tighter, and shorter.

Ryou had even dug up one of Malik’s embarrassing old crop tops from back in high school. He had held it up to his chest on a lazy Saturday morning in the beginning of September and turned around to peer at Malik over his shoulder. “What do you think?” he’d asked, giggling. “Will Bakura recognise it, if I'm the one wearing it? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything like this—you’ve been holding out on me.”

Malik had rubbed at his eyes, still half asleep. “Hah? Bakura . . ? Well, maybe, but—I didn’t know you knew each other.”

“Don’t you remember?” Ryou had said, innocently. “You introduced us.”

* * *

In October, Malik watched Bakura from across the office.

His cigarette dangled from one hand and his phone was pressed to his ear with the other. He was laughing. It was a rare sight, seeing Bakura look happy—that was why Malik was staring at him, taken aback by his best friend’s sudden shift in demeanor.

Bakura’s lips moved, in an indiscernible whisper—the person on the other end seemed to say something funny, because he then laughed again. Next to him on the desk was a little remote control, so small Malik had no idea what it could be for. A fan, maybe, thought it was a little late in the season for that.

When break came, Malik strolled over to his cubicle, hands shoved in his back pockets. Bakura was off the phone, cigarette back between his teeth. He’d propped his legs up on the desk; he looked terribly self-satisfied.

“New girlfriend?” Malik asked, bemused, leaning up against the divider.

Bakura let out a hum of acknowledgement, taking a long, deep drag of his cigarette. “Something like that,” he said. “Though I don’t know how amenable he’d be to being called my girlfriend.”

Malik blinked. “‘He’?” he repeated. “I didn’t know you were—”

“I’m not,” Bakura said vaguely. “This one’s just . . . special.” Then, with a shit-eating grin, he asked, “Speaking of, how’s Ryou, huh?”

* * *

Malik stood outside his apartment in November with flowers in his hand and listened as his boyfriend moaned, the front door rattling with the force of Ryou getting railed against it.

“ _Harder,_ ” Ryou begged, sounding desperate as all hell even from outside. “Oh my god, harder, please—”

“Fucking dumb _whore,_ ” the guy pounding into him groaned. “Always such a whore for my cock, you love it inside you—love getting fucked and bred, where your boyfriend walks through every day . . .”

Ryou let out a high-pitched, tremulous wail. “ _Yes_ ,” he managed, “I love it, please— _Bakura_ —”

* * *

“Hey,” Ryou said later that night, from across the dinner table. He was freshly-showered—he smelled good, and looked good. He seemed happier than he'd been in months. “Have a good day at work?”

“Yeah,” Malik said, shoveling another forkful of rice down his throat. He didn’t bother to tell Ryou that he’d been given the day off.

Ryou hummed. His cheeks were red; he was fidgeting in his seat, hands crossed over his lap. "Well, that's good," he purred. His low, soft voice sounded so _sultry_ —like it did when he was splayed out under Malik, writhing on his cock. "A—ah . . ."

Malik swallowed the portion in his mouth. "What's wrong?" he asked, flatly.

His boyfriend only shook his head. "Nothing," Ryou said, biting down on his plump lower lip. "J—just so happy you're back, babe, really."

* * *

In December, Malik sat on the floor of the bedroom closet and watched through the crack in the door as his best friend plowed into his boyfriend of three years and six months.

Ryou was wearing some skimpy panties that opened at the back and a thin, translucent bra, gagged and blindfolded. A thick collar, like one some kind of dog would wear, was wound around his neck, attached to his necklace. Bakura held the leash it was attached to in one hand, his other one coming down hard on Ryou’s ass with each slow, punishing thrust.

“You’re really disgusting,” Bakura sneered, giving Ryou’s ass a particularly brutal slap. The sound of it echoed in the small room. Ryou’s moan of pain, albeit muffled by the ball gag shoved in his mouth, was almost as loud. “You know what a nasty slut you are, right? Taking dick like a bitch in heat.” There was a pause. Bakura’s hips stopped for a moment, withdrawing slightly from Ryou’s hole. “Say you’re a nasty slut.”

Ryou nodded, desperately rolling his hips back into the cock fucking into him to try to get it in deeeper. He couldn’t speak, not properly, but Malik could see him struggling against the gag to say the words, drooling all over himself. He really did look like a dog like this, on his hands and knees on the floor, ass in the air and legs spread wide.

“Good girl,” Bakura said, caressing the reddening skin of Ryou’s ass, where he had just hit him. His cock was barely pushed in at this point, Ryou’s hole swallowing only its blunt head. “Now fuck yourself.”

With a plaintive whine, Ryou eased his hips back on the length of Bakura’s cock, bouncing on his heels to try to keep up a steady rhythm. His gag was wet with tears, his cock straining painfully against his panties, but he didn’t seem upset in the least—each time Bakura’s hips slapped against his ass, he groaned around the gag in his mouth.

Bakura’s eyes slipped shut, letting Ryou do the work for him. “Faster,” he instructed after a moment, and reached out to grasp one of Ryou’s legs, holding it up by his knee. From his current vantage point, Malik could see the underside of Ryou’s belly like this, his spread thighs, his cock peeking out from under the lace. “And don’t lose your balance.”

Ryou struggled, but he obeyed Bakura’s instructions, pushing back into Bakura’s cock even as his body shook with exertion. The leash around his neck was completely taut, so tight Malik thought Ryou must be choking, _must_ be in pain. He’d never liked anything like this—he was gentle, soft, loving. He liked to be touched with care.

Not—not like this.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bakura breathed out, tugging on the collar, the leash pressed hard against the skin of Ryou’s knee. “That’s it. . .”

He slapped Ryou again, his free hand coming down so quickly and unexpectedly that Ryou crumpled under the movement, collapsing face first into the carpet. His ass was still in the air, red and swollen-looking, the head of the cock buried half inside. Bakura stopped, then, and slipped out; Ryou’s empty, fucked-out hole twitched with longing. With one finger, he stroked its rim, letting out a snicker when it tried to clench down on nothing.

“You’re so pathetic,” Bakura said, continuing to play casually with Ryou’s hole. “Can’t even do one thing right. Cock makes you so _stupid_ , it’s unbelievable.”

When Ryou managed to right himself, his limbs nearly buckling beneath him, Bakura let the leash go lax and pulled away from Ryou’s ass. His fingers wandered to his chest, tugging on one of his nipples before he pushed on his shoulder and slammed Ryou hard down onto his back.

Malik nearly winced with the force of it. Why— _how_ could this be Ryou?

“People like you don’t get to decide what happens to them,” Bakura hissed, spreading Ryou’s legs and positioning his cock at his messy pink entrance. “They just get fucked.”

Without giving the younger man time to adjust, Bakura slammed inside him, the leash holding Ryou fast. The sound of it—of flesh against flesh, of Ryou’s muffled, pathetic groans—echoed in the empty room. After a moment, those long, thin legs wound around his waist, ankles hooking on his back.

Bakura gave Ryou a wicked smirk, though he no doubt knew he couldn’t see it. “Better than your boyfriend, I know,” he jeered, driving his cock deeper inside. His breath was coming out in pants—he was getting close, Malik could tell just from listening to him. “That’s—that’s why you come to me . . . to be treated like you need to be treated. Like a _whore_.”

Ryou’s legs jerked and tightened around Bakura’s waist, his head tipped back as he thrashed beneath his grip, coming violently. His cock spilled onto his own chest—the liquid gleamed against his milky skin. When he relaxed, his hand came to rest on Bakura’s arm, as if signaling that he could continue.

“Ryou . . .” Teeth gritted, Bakura’s eyes closed as he fucked hard and fast into Ryou, all pretense of control abandoned. It only took another moment before he went still, letting out a low grunt, his hips pressed against Ryou’s ass. He stayed there a while, chest heaving, sweat rolling down his temples, before he finally pulled out.

Ryou’s creamed hole looked like an absolute mess, stretched out and drooling cum. His panties were twisted up and ripped. Malik, despite himself, swallowed. It was a gorgeous sight to behold.

Bakura leaned over after another second had passed, deftly undoing the gag and tugging off the blindfold, letting the leash drop to the ground. Ryou’s face, without the impediments that had blocked his senses, was a flushed mess; his lips were bleeding, his eyes swollen and nose dripping with tears or snot or some other substance. But despite all that, he looked—terribly, disgustingly—happy.

Bakura gazed down at him with half-lidded eyes, and kissed him gently.

Malik, disgusted with himself and with them, looked away.

* * *

In January, Malik watched them again, and didn’t look away.

He returned to the closet the next day.


End file.
